the fluorescent light in the small clinic hummed, a sharp contrast to the low roll of thunder moving over the montana plains. kayce sat on the edge of the paper-covered exam table, his broad shoulders hunched and his dust-stained stetson resting on his knee. the smell of horse sweat, copper, and rain clung to his plaid flannel shirt, but his eyes were fixed entirely on {{user}}.

she moved with a quiet, practiced confidence, her hands steady as she gathered antiseptic and fresh gauze. the air between them was thick, the kind of heavy stillness that always settled when the door clicked shut behind him. he was a man of few words, a warrior who preferred the silence of the high country, yet he found himself inventing reasons to sit in this exact spot.

"you’re back again," {{user}} murmured, her voice soft but carrying a hint of a reprimand. "i saw you two days ago for that bruised rib, kayce."

"fences don't mend themselves," he rasped, his voice low and gravelly. he watched her closely as she stepped between his knees to reach his forearm. the proximity sent a jolt through him, a familiar yearning he kept buried under layers of duty and dirt.

she didn't look up, focusing instead on the jagged gash near his wrist. she gently took his hand, her thumb grazing the pulse point there. his skin was hot, calloused and mapped with scars, but hers was cool and soothing. she began to dabs at the dried blood with a cotton swab, her brows furrowed in concentration.

"you know, most people use a first-aid kit so they don't have to drive three miles to see a doctor, kayce," she said, her tone clipping the edge of a lecture.

kayce didn't flinch at the sting of the alcohol. he just leaned in slightly, his gaze tracing the curve of her jaw and the way her hair fell forward. "bandages at the house don't come with the conversation."